Belly of the Beast
by Lyon.The.Demon
Summary: Why can't there be a limit to the 'weird' the Winchesters get themselves into? This time it's a suspect turned hive, a small city quickly filling with dead bodies, and on top of that, time travel is involved. Why you ask? Because nothing good ever comes of it, so why wouldn't the Winchesters be involved anyway? Kidnappings, major death, gore, and other warnings to come.
1. Episode 1: Bad Moon Rising

**_Authors' Note - Set after the events of Season 9, Episode 11, but before the events of Season 9, Episode 15. Your choice as to where in that time frame this falls. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy - May have somewhat slow updates, but don't forget to drop a line and tell me what you think!_**

* * *

"Hey, I think I found one."

Sam lifted his gaze over the edge of the laptop screen, watching as Dean, sitting across the table from him, lazily glanced over the rim of hours-cooled coffee. They had been sitting in the small town diner for what seemed like days without a word spoken between them, with only the steady clackling of keyboard tiles and the drumming of fingertips against a plastic-made-to-look-marble table glued awkwardly close enough to his side of the booth to make moving around impossible, and the occasional polite conversation with the aging waitress who came around whenever she realized they were still there, to fill the silence weighing on their shoulders.

Maybe if he weren't already having such a horrible week, Dean would have given her more than just a few short lines, given she looked as burned out as he felt considering the oily, stringy hair well camoflauged into a messy bun and her preoccupied lack of thought which lead to his triple bacon cheeseburger with everything becoming a double cheeseburger with a single strip of bacon, a handful of tomato slices, and a pitiful last-breath-of-the-bottle splash of mustard to crown its dishonored glory.

Maybe.

"Took you long enough. How far?"

It came out with more contempt than he'd wanted, his tone a low and threatening growl, despite the innocent words. Still, he felt a tiny swelling of satisfation at Sam's barely lowered brows, from the obvious irritation in the crinkling of his nose to the tell-tale curl of his upper lip as he bit back what promised to be a scathing retort. It gave him a sense of... _less_ irritation with the wait. Sam, taking a long shallow breath, found that the exhaustion of the past few days was wearing on him, numbing the urge to rise to the challenge shinning in his brother's eyes.

In all honesty, Sam had been researching a case he'd decided was a case over two hours ago, while he avoided mentioning anything to Dean. Not that it was a difficult feat; Dean seemed more than happy to sulk and brood over their recent string of unfortunate events, just as Sam was content keeping his mind preoccupied from waiting on word of Crowley's hunt for the First Blade and the implications bringing it and the mark of Cain together spelled for Dean. So what better way to clear his head than to dive head-first into another job?

Well, that was before he realized how complicated this case might be. Adjusting the computer so Dean could see the screen, Sam threw a quick glance over his shoulder, but only two people had entered the diner in a while, and both seemed finished with their meals and ready to leave. Likewise, their waitress was no where in sight as Sam leaned back over the table, his voice lowering.

"'Bout two hours north, but Dean, there's something-"

"Weird going on," Dean finished for him, tearing his eyes away from the laptop while reaching for his bag. "There's always something weird going on. We'll talk it over in the car, let's just get the hell outta here."

"Wait, Dean...!"

The rest of Sam's protests died on his tongue amid the blur of movement that was his brother. In mere seconds the bell to the diner door was chiming its merry tune, leaving Sam digging at his temples with calloused knuckles. Letting out a long, slow breath, he dug into his pocket, fingers closing around a twenty dollar bill. Throwing it onto the table with one hand, he closed the laptop with his other, collecting it under his arm while scooting out of the too-low booth where he was sure his knees had become one with the bottom of the table.

His long stride took just seconds to reach the door, passing their waitress on the way out as she headed toward their now vaccant table. Without knowing quite what made him stop, though the glossy look in her eyes was a slight concern, he watched her robotically carry a quarter-full coffee pot to their table, topping off Dean's unfinished cup. What kept Sam rooted to the spot was that she turned, ignoring the money left in plain sight on the table, and walked away; as if she hadn't even noticed they were gone.

His brows knotted together as he studdied the scene, trying to make sense of it, when two startling honks from the parking lot spilled a fresh wave of frustration over him like a bucket of ice. The sound that stole from his lips was somewhere between a grunt and a growl as he forced himself to turn back toward the doors, pushing them open into a blast of suffocating heat. Wincing at the brightness of the day despite the waning hours, he made short work of the trek to the impala, leaving the twinkling chime of the diner bells long behind with the slam of the passenger side door.

Sinking into air-conditiioned bliss, Sam turned to face Dean, catching him as his hand landed on the gear shift.

"Dean, wait. I think there might actually be a case here, too. That waitress? She-"

"Was out of it? Drugs maybe? Loony bin case? I dunno, Sam, everyone else looked pretty normal in there to me. The only monster like thing she did was butcher my poor sandwich, so if you don't mind, there's a store down the street where I'm gonna get myself some real grub. Then we're gonna hit the road, and talk about that case you found. Okay?"

Without waiting, Dean shifted the car into reverse, the slight kick of the car following his mumbled, "Okay." as he backed out of the lot. Sam slumped back into the seat with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes toward the window, watching the quaint little building disappear behind them, replaced with the backdrop of another small town; all different, yet all exactly the same.

Maybe Dean was right. Pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, he shifted his laptop onto his lap and opened it again, the screen flashing back to the pages he'd been looking at before Dean's race for the exit.

"Anyway, so two people have been pronounced dead with- get this- no real cause of death. Not natural causes, not even suicide. Stranger than that-"

Within seconds the car had pulled into a spot in front of a tiny mom-and-pop shop, been turned off, while Dean opened the door and stepped out into the sweltering heat.

"Where are you going?!"

Frustration colored Sam's quick outburst as he leaned across the divider, despite the waves of heat pounding at his face from the dry wind the impala attempted to sheild them from, to watch Dean with one foot still in the car, lean down to fix him with an impatient, unyeilding stare.

" _Real_ food, remember?"

Again, without waiting for a response, Dean had drawn himself out of the impala, giving the roof a sharp rap as he slammed the door on Sam, who's lips curled as he fought back another grunt. When that didn't work, and the sound came out anyway, he gave into it, throwing his hands into the air as he sat up, leaning against the side of the door as he jammed his fist into the side of his cheek. Once more he stared mutely out the window, this time without seeing any part of the world around him.

Instead, his thoughts were consumed by the hope that, along with his 'road food', Dean would grab himself a Snickers.

* * *

"So you're honestly trying to tell me these people friggin' died while having sex?"

"During, after, no one knows, that's the thing."

Dean scoffed, his knuckles tightening into white bricks that covered the delicate steering wheel of his baby like ivory on ebony. Still, he couldn't help stealing a glance when Sam turned the computer to face him, his scoff from earlier blooming into a bark of laughter as his eyes returned to the road.

"Hey, at least they died happy."

"Seriously? That's what you take out of this?"

Attempting to control his laughter into a quiet snigger, Dean cast a few more looks toward the passanger side, gaging the look on Sam's face. Shock, disgust, and anger answered his seeking gaze, helping his laughter fade as one hand abandoned the wheel to point at the photos.

"Oh, come on! Don't tell me they don't look like they've got grins plastered all over their cold mugs, 'cuz from where I'm sitting, looks like these guys were having the time of their lives."

"Yeah, well, be that as it may," Dean couldn't help another snort as from the corner of his eye, he watched Sam turn the laptop back toward himself, "Two vics show up within twenty-four hours of each other, both who just _died_ during sex- oh, but nothing actually happened to them that would kill them?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get you. Sounds like our kinda thing."

Shifting for a better position, Dean made himself comfortable as Sammy started explaining what he'd found so far.

"First guy was reported missing a week ago by his boss for not showing up to work- apparently he had a reputation for never missing- and then later that night by his wife, who said she came home to an empty house and just 'knew' there was something wrong. Next day, he's found completely naked, spread-eagled in the middle of a local love hotel bed. Not to mention, he's dead. Wife says it was an 'act of god', punishing him for being unfaithful."

"So, what? We thinking witch?"

Glancing back at Sam, Dean watched him shaking his head, absorbed in the computer as he continued,

"I dunno. Might be, since it only gets weirder from there. See, the next guy wasn't even reported missing. He was just found a day after the first vic, this time behind a strip joint."

"I know which crime scene I'm investigating," Dean chuckled, earning a long silence from the other man.

After a few seconds, Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing over to meet Sam's stern gaze, displeasure written on his face as he sat there in defiant silence. Dean could feel his lips twitching downward as he turned, refocusing on the road. When his silence wasn't enough to make Sam continue, he huffed, grumbling,

"Right. No fun. Forgot about that. Won't happen ag-"

"Just shut up."

"Then start talking."

He could hear shifting in the seat beside him, but he refused to let himself look at Sam, instead focusing on road signs and mile markers, on the red mustang that blew past them in the fast lane, on the dangerously blinding glint of that evil ball of flame peeking out from along the tree line beyon-

"When the girls were interviewed, they told police he was a new guy, never came in before, and left out the back with some girl who didn't even work there."

"Footage?"

"Still shots, and only of her back as she's leading him out. No one recognized her, and to quote, 'everything seemed normal'."

"Well, that generally tells me everything I need to know. So whatever was put in the report there-"

"Wasn't the whole truth." Sam finished, nodding his head.

"Right. When we get there, I'll drop you off at the widdow's place and then check out what really happened to Happy McFeelGood."

"Dean," came the low warning. drowned out by,

"Relax, Sammy. All business; got it."

Dean reached forward to turn the radio on, a smile tugging at his lips to hear Credence Clearwater Revival croning out their greatest hit through well-kept speakers. Then Sam was trying to talk over the song, but with a flick of the dial, CCR was once more the dominant sound between the two, and Dean was more than alright with it.

After that, the rest of the trip folded into Sam and Dean ignoring each other up until they were parked in front of a Mrs. Willow Faulkinson's house, with Sam just stepping out of the car, pausing as he did so. Arching an eyebrow, Dean leaned slightly over to see if there was anything that had caught the younger's attention, when Sam turned around to lean back into the car, keeping the door open while giving him a hard stare.

"Alright, what's your problem?"

"What problem?"

"I dunno. I guess... you're just more of a dick, lately."

Trying and failing to resist the urge to roll his eyes, Dean scoffed, shaking his head as he righted himself in the seat.

"Yup. Partners are dicks. Speaking of which, close that door so I can get back to 'business', will you?"

Plastering the nicest smile he could on his face, he turned his head to look at Sam, whose eyes had narrowed. They stayed that way for an uncomfortable amount of time, but it was Sam that finally broke the tension by heaving an exhausted sigh, leaning back, and slamming the door shut. Within seconds, Dean had the impala pealing back onto the road, music screaming to the world through her open windows.

Shifting further back into his seat, he turned the radio up a few more notches, still unable to drown out his own thoughts for all the wailing of his favored steel guitars. For now though, he would have to settle with focusing on the case at hand.

"Strip joint, huh...?" He couldn't even hear himself talk over the music. "Let's see what you got."


	2. Episode 2: The Stars and Strippers

**_Authors' Note - Set after the events of Season 9, Episode 11, but before the events of Season 9, Episode 15. Your choice as to where in that time frame this falls. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy - May have somewhat slow updates, but don't forget to drop a line and tell me what you think!_**

 ** _Warnings: Hookers, mentions of drug deals, and saggy tits. Warning level 1/10._**

* * *

Walking into a place like this was usually a fifty-fifty shot with Dean; sometimes the women were amazing, beer chilled perfectly, with great food to back it all up - others often ended up experiences he'd rather not remember. Looking through the windsheild at the front of what looked more like an old gas station than 'Morgana's Gentleman's Club', as their partially lit, flickering sign claimed, he had a strong sensation this wouldn't be one of his better times.

"More like 'Morgana's B Stars'..." he mumbled, peering out his closed window at two older women showing off large chunks of liposuctioned skin, wrinkled with bad life decisions.

They stood just outside the door, blatently ignoring the no smoking signs litering the door and windows visible, with cigarettes brandished daintily by too slim fingers, waving about in the air as they whispered animatedly to each other. Grimacing heavily, Dean sighed to himself, flicking the keys out of the ignition and stepping out of the vehicle with a fluid ease that came from years of familiarity. It took the slam of his door to draw the women's attention, both women instantly flicking their cigarettes behind their backs, patting themselves down in an attempt to look better than they already didn't. Swallowing back the few snacks he'd had today, he tried to keep his gaze focused on the brunette's over-styled curls as he reached into his jacket, pulling out his badge. Flicking it open, he watched their broad smiles turn quickly to suspicion and wariness as he spoke.

"Agent Jacob Darlton, FBI." There was a quick flash of realization on the brunette's face, and with narrowed eyes, Dean gave her more concideration as he spoke. "I'm here about the body found out back a week ago. Either of you know anything?"

The two shared a quick look, Dean's eyes narrowing as he noticed both reach into the large designer handbags superglued to their sides. He could feel every muscle in his body tense as he readied himself for a fight, almost willing one of them to make that choice. Heart pounding, fingers itching closer to his palms, he barely heard the blonde speak through the high pitched hum that had settled deep in his eardrums.

"Can we just... take you to our boss? She's the one that talked to all you guys last time. We don't know nothing anyway, I swear."

Sucking in a deep breath, he tried to focus around the compelling urge to beat the obvious lies out of the two women. Eventually, he settled for rolling his eyes, forcing a grin onto his face and turning his attention to the save'n'gas turned dollhouse.

"Then lead the way."

His tone belied his impatience, fueling their hurried movements as they scuttled over each other in too-high heels to open the door for him and usher him inside. Just stepping into the place was like an instant blast into the past; between the myriad of cancer-inducing smoke that lingered like a haze about waist level, the grungy background music that was just loud enough to to drown the world outside away, and the sleezy aroma of sweat, money, and good-old-fashioned georgeous women dressed in tacky, trashy clothing;- or, if you were lucky, nothing at all- Well, he felt more in his element now than he had for a long while. With the mark pushed back to the deeper recesses of his mind, he turned a hunter's eye on the people around him as he followed the two once-upon-a-time-milfs.

By no means crowded, there was still a fair number of girls wandering around for the few sorry blokes who were slunk down in their lonely seats, nursing tankards of their choice of brew as they poorly hid their camera phones from a few shameless, late thirty-somethings who were making a lewd show of themselves by the rundown jukebox while the stage remained empty, despite the large tip jar plastered to the decaying wood that proudly proclaimed 'LILY' scrawled in large pink, glittery scribbles. However, as he was led across the scuffed hardwood floors to the back of the building, where the poor state of the bar was overshadowed only by the cringe-worthy selection of alchohol, he watched every pair of eyes in the place catch sight and follow his trek to the bar, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention. Upon approaching the bar, the young man standing behind the counter, staring at them like a deer in the headlights whose appearance said his voice hadn't dropped and he listened to too much P!nk, finally jumped into action after his eyes settled on Dean. With the blood still draining from his face, he pulled the brunette off to the side, whispering feverishly to her while sending several sharp glances toward the blonde, who hastily excused herself with the goal of finding their boss.

If the weird-o-meter hadn't sparked before now, there was a winner this time.

Groaning from exhaustion and raking a hand through his hair, Dean strained his ears for the conversation between the bartender and the brunette, only to be startled by the sound of a half-full whiskey glass plunking down on the counter in front of him. Looking up, he was overwhelmed by the intensity of obviously dyed fire engine red hair, extensively curled and held with enough hairspray he could smell the fumes over everything else in the place. When she spoke, her voice was gruff, roughened by too many cigarettes.

"On the house. ...If," her hand was quick, blocking Dean from taking the offered glass as she stared him down with mousy brown eyes. "You make this quick as possible, agent."

Narrowing his eyes, he studied the woman for a moment, taking in the caked-on foundation and make-up that did nothing to hide the wrinkles of an aging face, and the beautifully patterened leopard print dress that clung to folds and creases like an un-opened, melted chocolate bar that had been squeezed by someone's fist in the middle. Disguising his sudden gag reflex as a cough, Dean finally found himself wondering- on top of everything he'd seen here already, if this was supposed to be a strip club, why were the ladies all... old? Not to mention everyone was still eyeing him like a rat. Taking a second to breathe, Dean watched her hand slowly retract from the glass sitting between them, now the symbol of a deal rather than an offering, and with a sigh, he reached for the glass, picking it up and holding it in front of him without so much as a sample, like he was listening for the alcohol's opinion on the situation at hand. When a few seconds had passed in silence, he heard the woman once more.

"Jen said you came asking 'bout that body?"

He couldn't get over it; something just seemed... irrevokably _off_ about the whole situation. Nor, could he put his finger on what made him feel that way.

"Just trying to get some answers."

"Oh? Well, I already told your lot. Never seen either one of them before that night, never seen either one since."

If the slight twitch in his upper lip was any indication, Dean was having trouble locking up his irritation at the red-head's obvious lie. In fact, let's go with all the lies strung together from the time he stepped out of his baby. Leaning fully against the splintered, washed out wood of the bar, Dean gave himself a second to leisurely play with his drink, swirling the liquid into a hurricane of amber while he tempered his thoughts. Staring into the eye of this controlled cyclone as if it were the magic eight ball of the world and the only thing standing between him and his answers, he spoke slowly; clearly.

"Let me tell you how this is going to go."

When he finally looked up at the petite woman who couldn't have been any less than forty or any more than a buck-twenty, giving him that Paris Hilton sneer as she shifted from one foot to the other, he made sure to look straight into dark blue eyes dialated with growing concern as he started in.

"FBI isn't just some title we go waving around. Even if I couldn't drag you out of here kicking and screaming with no warrent, no cause, no explination, no nothing- I'm not blind, lady. Tell you what," His voice was speeding up as he twirled his finger, indicating toward the purse sitting beside the register, "I'll bet you everything I own that I can open your purse and find an item from damn near every person who's stepped foot in here tonight, AND more than half tonight's profits from the drawer. Oh, and I've noticed other things too. Like how usually it's a couple that head outside every now and again; usually a smiling girl and a nervous, sweaty guy. But those girls are the only ones that come back. Every. Time. And don't even try to say speculation," Dean's hand was in the air before the dancer could part her lips, "Because I've got news for you. Drunk people just LOVE to hear themselves talk. And they talk. Loud."

Letting his wrist rest from the swirling motion, he leaned back, bringing the rim of the glass to his lips, loosing the flood of liquid fire down his throat. Grimacing around the after burn of great American whiskey, he took a moment to glance around, letting a burp sneak out the side of his lips as he gestured with his empty glass to behind the bar, where the obviously too-young bartender was failing horribly at hiding what kinks he and the brunette from outside were into, then toward possibly the youngest and definitely hottest woman of the bunch, where she was huddled into the corner with three other strippers, trading fist-fulls of cash and plastic bags.

"And don't even get me started... on... the hell?!"

In turning back to face- come to think of it, he still hadn't caught her name, or anyone's name for that matter- _boss lady_ , he caught a glimpse of the television set mounted over the island of 'top shelf' alchohol. He only caught a quick shot of the fast moving streaks of shadow weaving in and out of flashing red and blue lights, but that Fabio mop he could recognize anywhere.

"Turn that up!" he barked, frantically searching his jacket for his cell.

He'd no sooner tightened his fingers around the plastic edges of the phone than it was open and dialing Sam's number. He had it to his ear and ringing while the lady leered at him, but lifted a remote toward the tv, and finally he could hear an off screen reporter droning on over a looping ten seconds of Sam chasing some small shadow down a back street into a lot of trees, away from police lights, where they disappeared, and the loop began again.

 _"Not twenty minutes ago, an annonymous tip reached local police about another victim in what's becoming widely known as the 'Lady of the Night' killings. When police and FBI arrived on scene, stunning footage -"_

"Come on, Sam, pick up...!" he growled at the constant ringing in his ear, his eyes glued to the repeating images as he strained his ears for more information.

 _"-who bravely gave chase after the killer, disappearing into a preserved, historical trail while the police form search groups and begin to sweep the area. I can hear the dogs being unloaded from the vans now, and I think there's even a helicop-"_

The unrelenting ringing in his ear finally shifted to painful, loud bursts of rustling, heavy breathing, and dogs barking in the background, forcing Dean to grip the empty glass tighter to stop the violent shake coming on; not from the mark, he hoped, but from anxiety for Sam. Huffing and heaving, the sound of Sam trying to catch his breath overshadowed angry and distinctly female grunts and growls, arching Dean's eyebrows long before Sam's smart ass remark of "Kinda busy man," between breaths.

"Yeah, I saw," he deadpanned, setting the glass down on the bar in favor of massaging his aching temples. "You're on TV."

"Am I?" Came the strangely bemused response, an unbidden chuckle bubbling from Dean's throat at Sam's unique humor shining through all the dangers they faced.

A few quick snaps in his face drew Dean's attention from the voice on the phone to the toe-tapping, arms crossing, lip curling red-head glaring at him and mouthing the word 'Rude' at him. Letting his own festering frustrations swell to the surface, his eyes narrowed as he held up his index finger, completely forgetting she existed when Sam spoke.

"Anyway... Just took down some girl. I dunno if she's the killer or not, but Dean, she's pretty good; she's young, but she seems like she knows what she's doing. Kinda like-"

In seconds the background noises of dogs turned to a deafening cacaphony of bellowing, rumbling barks, and Dean could hear Sam shouting into the distance, letting the other officers know where he was. There was more rustling and movement, and the next thing Dean heard was a very short,

"They're taking her down to the station. I'm going with them, you finish up and get your ass down here, Dean."

Then the line was dead. Inhaling slowly, he shoved the phone back into his pocket, turning his eyes leisurely to the woman who was still tapping her foot at him. When she finally realized he was just staring at her, her brows knitted together, and what would have been a cheerful tone was slurred by a scalding sneer.

"That your partner?" she nodded toward the phone Dean had pocketed, as if to make sure he knew exactly what she meant.

Dean's eyes narrowed further, trying to understand the meaning behind the question even as he hummed in the affirmative, earning her second question of, "That your killer?" as she turned to face the TV, Sam's face long swept away by the torrent of 'breaking' news that happened every minute. Cautiously, Dean tested the word on his tongue before answering,

"Possibly."

A large, sickly sweet smile twisted brightly painted red lips upward, accentuating every line in her face as her 'honeyed' words washed over him like shards of glass and sandpaper.

"Then between you and me, I think you have bigger fish to fry than a tiny home business that barely makes enough to stay afloat. So unless there's anything else, _agent_.."

Once more, Dean caught himself biting back scathing words, setting his jaw as some of the terseness he felt slipped through into his voice.

"I still want to take a look at where the body was found. Just to cover all the bases, you know? For paperwork."

He smiled thinly, watching the almost visible sparks around them as her indigo irises stared him down through her mask of friendliness, her own tone clipped as she gestured with a hand toward the back door,

"Of course, for paperwork. The door's right there; don't let it hit ya on the way out."

Swallowing back a quiet growl, Dean turned immediately from the bar, still well aware every pair of eyes in the place were following him as he strode to the exit and pushed it open. One quick look, then he would take off for the police station to meet up with Sam and figure out what the hell happened. 'It's better this way,' he brooded, 'Because if I ever see this place again, I'm gonna be sick.'

It was just supposed to be one quick look.


End file.
